


Depending

by truethingsproved



Series: Talk revolution to me, baby. [6]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Wakes & Funerals, enjolras is secretly mr. darcy in the worst possible way, grantaire has a cat named cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truethingsproved/pseuds/truethingsproved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Lamarque’s death is a quiet affair. One minute he’s breathing regularly and the next he’s not. Enjolras is the only thing that makes this less quiet—he’s outside the hospital room shouting at the interns that Dr. Lamarque didn’t actually mean it when he signed that he was DNR, that he needs to come back, how can they just leave him there to die like that when he’s still got so much life ahead of him. After a few minutes Grantaire heads out of the room and curl his fingers around Enjolras’ wrist.</p><p>“It’s done,” he says softly, and Enjolras deflates because his insides are hollow and there’s nothing to give him shape anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Depending

Grantaire’s presence at the hospital is becoming too regular. It’s starting to get almost uncomfortable. Every day when Enjolras arrives, Grantaire is there, and the artist always walks him to his car, despite the cold. It’s good to have a friend there, and to be perfectly honest Enjolras would prefer Grantaire over just about anyone else—Grantaire just sits there in silence without touching him, which is more than anyone else would do—but Enjolras is concerned.

If he comes to depend on Grantaire he’s just going to be that much more lost when Grantaire finally gets sick of being around him.

They sit there together in the waiting room, Grantaire’s nose buried in a book and Enjolras sneaking glances at him whenever he can as if to ensure that he’s still here. Grantaire pretends not to notice. It’s just like any other of the dozens of times that they’ve done this—it’s been nearly two weeks since the stroke—except that today Enjolras knows that Grantaire’s got a boyfriend.

Well, no, he’s got a Montparnasse, and they’re hardly the same thing, but Grantaire’s regularly having back-breaking sex with someone else. And Enjolras isn’t even a little bit jealous.

Nope.

Not in the slightest.

If he goes halfway across town to see another mechanic when his check engine light comes on and stays on it’s not even a little bit related.

\------

 **Enjolras:** The engine was flooded. I needed a new engine. This new guy charged me six hundred bucks.

 **Eponine:** why didn’t you just go see monty?

 **Enjolras:** I don’t think he does very good work.

 **Eponine:** there are only two things monty knows better than sex. the first is computers and the second is cars. and that boy’s a pro.

 **Enjolras:** …

 **Enjolras:** You have terrible taste in men.

 **Eponine:** hey, combeferre’s great, shut your trap.

 **Enjolras:** Yeah, yeah. You still have generally bad taste in men. I mean, exhibit a: Pontmercy.

\------

The dean of the college is coming to sit in on one of the classes Enjolras is teaching for Dr. Lamarque. His condition is continuing to deteriorate; he can barely speak any English at this point and so Enjolras and Mrs. Lamarque spend about ninety percent of their time with him translating for the interns.

Needless to say, he’s nervous. Not because he doesn’t think he’s doing well—he knows he is—but because he doesn’t want Dr. Lamarque’s classes to end up cancelled, because they’re important. Life-changing important. He mentions this to Eponine, who mentions it to Combeferre, who lets slip to Jehan, who can’t keep a secret from Courfeyrac, who tells everyone else—Cosette included—who tells Grantaire.

Which explains why when the dean sits in on the class there’s a familiar mop of black curls in the back hunched over a notebook.

Grantaire barely even goes to his own classes, let alone knowingly volunteering to go to anyone else’s. Still, he tucks himself into one of the seats at the back, doesn’t say a word, barely even looks up, except for the occasional furtive glance in Enjolras’ direction. Cosette’s sitting next to him, her face permanently set in an encouraging and bright smile, and Joly is on Grantaire’s other side.

At the end of the class Enjolras looks up to see if they’ve waited but Grantaire is gone. He hides his disappointment by tucking his face into Cosette’s shoulder when she hugs him and tells him what a great job he’d done. It’s true; he is always particularly inspired when he’s trying to convince someone in particular. Grantaire is always his best and brightest audience.

Joly notices the disappointment but doesn’t say a word, just claps him on the shoulder with pride when the dean says that he doesn’t see why Enjolras can’t continue until they find a permanent replacement.

\------                                                                                        

 **Enjolras:** It’s not that I dislike Montparnasse. It’s just that I don’t particularly like him. I’m generally indifferent to him.

 **Eponine:** keep telling yourself that kid

 **Enjolras:** What are you talking about?

 **Eponine:** you’re so indifferent to him that you text me at one in the morning to tell me that

 **Enjolras:** I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.

 **Eponine:** well maybe if you say it long enough it’ll come true

 **Eponine:** click your heels together three times

 **Eponine:** I DO BELIEVE THAT MONTPARNASSE ISN’T THE ANTICHRIST I DO I DO

 **Enjolras:** I’m pretty sure part of that was actually a reference to Peter Pan.

 **Eponine:** go the fuck to sleep, apollo.

\------

Dr. Lamarque’s death is a quiet affair.

One minute he’s breathing regularly and the next he’s not. Enjolras is the only thing that makes this less quiet—he’s outside the hospital room shouting at the interns that Dr. Lamarque didn’t actually mean it when he signed that he was DNR, that he needs to come back, how can they just leave him there to die like that when he’s still got so much life ahead of him. Mrs. Lamarque is inside, laying on the hospital bed beside her husband with a watery, trembling smile, because it’s over. Thank god it’s over, she seems to tell Grantaire, who’s in the room with her holding her hand, even though he’s never met her, even if he’s only had one class with her husband, even if he smells of whiskey. After a few minutes he releases her to head out of the room and curl his fingers around Enjolras’ wrist.

“It’s done,” he says softly, and Enjolras deflates because his insides are hollow and there’s nothing to give him shape anymore.

He drives them all home, walking Mrs. Lamarque into her house and promising to bring Enjolras over tomorrow to help with funeral arrangements, and, on a whim, he offers to stay with her if she needs the support, but she just shakes her head and smiles and says that she can’t feel alone in the house her husband built her, and so once he’s sure she’s alright he brings Enjolras back to the car and drives them past Enjolras’ apartment building.

Enjolras shoots a confused look in Grantaire’s direction but it only lasts about half a second because Enjolras is far too tired to feel anything anymore.

When they arrive at Grantaire’s apartment it’s empty. Grantaire thanks his lucky stars that Courfeyrac had gotten his text and gone to spend the night with Jehan, because the last thing that Enjolras needs right now is to be surrounded by people. He leads Enjolras up the steps with a gentle hand on his elbow, the touch more intimate than anything they’ve ever shared, and when they get to Grantaire’s bedroom he slowly walks around to peel Enjolras’ jacket away and drape it over the chair to his desk.

“I’ll take the couch,” he says softly, and he needs a fucking drink. “Shout if you need me. Um. Borrow something of mine to sleep in.”

It’s a wonder that Grantaire’s taking control in any situation, but he’s there, he’s always there, and Enjolras stares after him with an expression caught between grief and gratitude.

\------

Grantaire wakes up a few hours later with a pounding headache and an almost-empty bottle of whiskey that was definitely at least half full the last time he looked, though he’s not the most reliable when it comes to memory sometimes, and he swears that he only means to get a glass of water to maybe control this horrible headache, except he somehow ends up standing in the doorway to his bedroom as he practically tips the coffee mug full of water down his throat.

Enjolras is in his bed, curled up facing the wall and shaking, and Grantaire’s heart aches in ways not even the alcohol could make him forget.

Something is clearly possessing him to do this but he climbs into the bed beside him and gently reaches over to curl his hand around Enjolras’ neck, his thumb tracing back and forth along his spine almost lovingly, and Enjolras stops trying to be silent as he outright sobs, wrenching and harsh and terrible. They lay like this as Enjolras’ sobs become increasingly more violent and after a while Grantaire just rolls onto his side and removes his hand from Enjolras’ neck to wrap his arm around the other man’s waist and pull him closer until his back is pressed against his chest.

He’s expecting Enjolras to push him away or to pull away or anything that ends with renewed distance between them but instead Enjolras clings to his arm with one hand and shudders and they fall asleep like this, drained and exhausted and anything but okay.

\------

Of all the things for Enjolras to expect when he wakes up in Grantaire’s bed wearing the other man’s shirt, it’s definitely not to find a cup of coffee waiting for him.

Last night is honestly something of a blur. He remembers Grantaire staying at the hospital with him far longer than usual while doctors crowded around Dr. Lamarque; Grantaire fishing Enjolras’ keys out of his pocket because he was in no condition to drive; Grantaire with his hand on Enjolras’ arm, leading him out of the hospital and to his car; Grantaire bringing him back to his apartment because it’s quieter, peeling his jacket off. Grantaire insisting that he take the bed before wandering off to curl up on the couch.

Grantaire climbing back into the bed and actually fucking _holding_ him and pretending that he couldn’t feel Enjolras shaking and sobbing next to him.

Grantaire grinning into his hair in a way he could feel rather than see when Enjolras tried to apologize and saying, “You can’t hold it together all the time, Apollo,” just before Enjolras falls asleep.

There’s a hastily-scrawled note on the bedside table, under the coffee, which is hot enough that it can’t have been left there more than ten minutes before, which reads “ _Out to pick up groceries. Help yourself to whatever you want and call me if you need me. Eponine’s on her way over”_ and is simply signed “-R”. Enjolras sits up and turns the note over in his hands before brushing his fingers lightly over the signature.

He cried. In front of Grantaire. Grantaire, of all people, and after finally (finally!) coming to the conclusion that he wants more than just a couple of quick fucks (which would really be no big deal—he’s slept with Jehan and Courfeyrac before and it didn’t change a thing in their friendship), he wants hand holding and paint samples and hardwood floors and shared beds. He cried, and he was held with the kind of tenderness you only get from a truly genuine love for someone, regardless of its nature, and the room smells like Grantaire’s cigarettes and he’s starting to feel sick.

Before he can consider this he hears the door open and practically flings the note away from him just as Eponine comes into Grantaire’s room and immediately wraps her arms around Enjolras. “How are you holding up?” she asks, and suddenly he’s crying again: big, angry tears carving tracks down his face, and she wraps her arms around him and brushes her fingers through his hair the way he always does for her when she’s crying.

She holds him tightly and he holds her back and she’s crying, too, leaving little wet droplets on the shoulder of the shirt he’d borrowed from Grantaire. They don’t speak, because what can you say to this? He’s not okay. His mentor, the closest thing he has to a father—had to a father—is dead, and he can’t stop shaking and crying and reaching back to run his fingers along the tattoo on the back of his neck as if to remind himself that Dr. Lamarque really was there at all.

Enjolras almost wishes he wasn’t.

\------

When Grantaire returns Enjolras is dressed in clothes that Eponine had brought for him and Grantaire misses the sight of him wearing that ratty old tee shirt bitterly. The two are eating a somber and silent breakfast of a shared bagel and muffin and Eponine looks up with a smile but Enjolras won’t look at him at all.

And since two can play at that game Grantaire simply and stubbornly takes a seat across from Enjolras and doesn’t say a word, but he sure as hell won’t look away.

After a few minutes Enjolras clears his throat. “Thank you for letting me stay here last night.”

“Mi casa es tu casa,” Grantaire replies instantly and with a terrible Spanish accent, and Enjolras looks like he wants to smile at that but won’t let himself.

They have another few minutes of increasingly uncomfortable silence before Enjolras gestures vaguely at the living room. “I like your coffee table.”

Grantaire just raises his eyebrows and nods, his lips pursed. He’d spilled paint on the coffee table once and had simply appropriated the space to be used for sketches and notes and graffiti in general and it’s now a paint-stained, doodled-on surface that no one ever really uses for much. Enjolras has seen it a thousand times. He wants to ask if Enjolras will like it better if Grantaire fucks him across it but refrains. Now is not the time.

“Thanks.”

Abruptly, Enjolras stands. “I should get over to Mrs. Lamarque’s.”

“I’ll drive you,” Grantaire offers, but Enjolras shakes his head so adamantly that it feels like a slap in the face. Was it really so bad, laying there with him, sleeping next to him, being held by him?

Of course. Grantaire’s a drunken fuckup and Enjolras is a fucking god and gods don’t give a damn about self-destructive acolytes.

“Eponine’s bringing me,” Enjolras explains, and he walks out the door so hastily he doesn’t even say goodbye. Eponine follows, flashing Grantaire an apologetic smile, and once they’re out the door Grantaire pulls his phone out and calls Montparnasse.

“Hey,” he says, welcoming the rush of blood between his legs with a bitter smile, “you free?”

\------

 **Eponine:** hey r please don’t be upset

 **Eponine:** enjolras is in a really bad place right now and he’s just overwhelmed

 **Eponine:** he was rude, absolutely, but he really does appreciate everything you do for him

 **Eponine:** r?

 **Eponine:** …r?

\------

For the first time, when Enjolras knocks on the door to Grantaire’s apartment, no one comes to let him in.

\------

Montparnasse is good at a lot of things. Hacking, for starters. He’s shut down credit card companies before. Grantaire’s pretty sure he’s part of Anonymous. He’s great with cars—which is how he and Grantaire started hooking up, actually, when he’d ended up blowing Grantaire before fucking him across the hood of the car he was fixing. And he’s incredible at sex.

He’s the perfect distraction, Grantaire realizes, because he’s got the stamina of the fucking Energizer bunny and he likes being fucked hard and he likes being left with bite marks and bruises across his back and neck, likes being marked in all the ways he can’t mark Enjolras.

Every thrust forward of his hips makes him think of how fucking angry he is at Enjolras, angry enough that he doesn’t answer his phone or the door or really acknowledge a world outside of his bedroom and the admittedly beautiful boy in his bed. Montparnasse is gorgeous. Long hair, usually tied back, a neatly trimmed goatee, usually wearing leather pants or something similar. He’s covered in tattoos and looks like something out of a metal band. Grantaire loves it because he’s so fucking different from Enjolras and at the same time so very fundamentally similar.

They’re both passionate, both fierce, both achingly beautiful, and both way too brilliant to be wasting their time with him.

He’s wandering into the kitchen completely naked to get them both a beer when he hears a key scraping in the lock, and he viciously hopes it’s Enjolras as the door swings open. He immediately wishes he could swallow that wish when he sees that it is, in fact, Enjolras, using the spare key.

They almost instantly look away from one another, though Grantaire doesn’t miss the way Enjolras’ eyes rake across the almost graceful curve of his spine when he bends forward to pick up the bottle that, shockingly, didn’t break when he’d dropped it in surprise, and Enjolras clears his throat. “I, uh, forgot my jacket,” he says by way of explanation, averting his eyes, and as if anything could possibly make this work, Montparnasse walks out, looking wonderfully debauched and fucked half to exhaustion.

Montparnasse walks out equally naked.

Grantaire wants to crawl under his nice coffee table and never come back out.

“Hey,” Montparnasse calls, taking one of the beers Grantaire holds out for him, and Enjolras simply turns around and leaves.

\------

 **Enjolras:** Alright, fine, fucking fine, I hate him.

 **Enjolras:** I hate Montparnasse.

 **Enjolras:** I hate his abs and his perfect ass and the skill at sex that it doesn’t seem like you exaggerated even a little.

 **Enjolras:** I hate his cars and his computers and his tattoos and his leather pants and the way he looks at Grantaire.

 **Enjolras:** AND I HATE HIS GOATEE.

 **Enjolras:** WHO THE FUCK HAS A GOATEE IN REAL LIFE.

 **Eponine:** you ok?

 **Enjolras:** no.

 **Enjolras:** I’d look awful with a goatee.

\------

The funeral home is crowded as half the school pours in. Enjolras sits with Mrs. Lamarque up front, and there’s an empty seat next to him only because no one else seems willing to go up there. Eponine sits behind him, occasionally reaching forward to squeeze his shoulders in support, and beside her sit Cosette (who’s holding her father’s hand and crying quietly and somehow managing to be beautiful even while she cries) and Combeferre, who’s got his hand resting on the small of Eponine’s back and who actually reaches over to brush her tears away with his thumb. Next to Combeferre is Courfeyrac, then Jehan, then Marius, then Bahorel, Feuilly, Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta.

The entire group is there, not because they all knew Dr. Lamarque but because they’re not making Enjolras do this alone. All except Grantaire.

Enjolras hasn’t spoken to him since walking in on him with Montparnasse and he’s exhausted because he fucking misses him, and he’s about to cave and call him and beg him to come because he can’t do this alone when the doors open and in walks a girl with shocking red hair that looks out of place even in a college town, her arm through Grantaire’s.

He deposits the redhead beside Musichetta, who hugs her tightly before kissing her on the cheek, and makes his way up to sit beside Enjolras.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says quietly. “My sister’s flight only just got in. She insisted on coming; said it was the least she could do with how much she bugs you.”

It’s true—Mary Kate tends to call Enjolras twice a week and demand updates on how her brother’s doing, complete with _the last time I left him in your care he ended up in the hospital so don’t you try and tell me that he’s fine with you_. Enjolras is too busy gaping at Grantaire to do much of anything, and the priest starts talking and they all stand and suddenly there’s a hand, warm and soft and calloused, in Enjolras’.

They don’t speak. Enjolras says the prayers in a monotone because they’re habit, and Grantaire stays strangely, respectfully, silent. When they exchange the sign of peace Enjolras breathes in deeply and all he can smell is Grantaire’s deodorant and the lingering scent of fast food, but no alcohol, which explains why Grantaire’s hand is shaking even in his.

That he came at all is a shock.

That he came sober is even more of one.

But the way he looks at Enjolras makes him want to cry and kiss him and get sick all over his shoes because he’s never seen someone look at him like that before, like he’s the only thing good left in the world, and Grantaire is still absolutely furious (and with reason to be—Eponine had scolded Enjolras in the car the whole way to Mrs. Lamarque’s and Enjolras had started six or seven different versions of _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know how I’m going to sleep in my own bed after this_ before deleting them all and putting his phone away.

When the funeral ends and they make their way out of the funeral home—it’s going to be a private burial, and Mrs. Lamarque wants to do this alone, and of course Enjolras will respect that—Grantaire still hasn’t let go of his hand, and Enjolras is crying again.

He stumbles back when Mary Kate literally throws herself at him with more strength than any seventeen-year-old should have, and he kisses her hair familiarly, because he does like her quite a bit when she’s not being awful, which is about fifteen percent of the time.

Everyone else hugs him, carefully, asking if he’s going to be okay and if he needs anything, and after they’ve left (or at least moved to fuss over Mary Kate a good distance away) Grantaire turns to Enjolras and shrugs.

“I’m glad you came,” Enjolras says quietly, and Grantaire actually grunts.

“You needed me,” he answers simply, as if that’s all that matters, and with a jolt Enjolras realizes that it is all that matters as far as Grantaire’s concerned. He bites his lip hard enough that he fears he might draw blood and Grantaire practically glares at him. It seems to take a frankly indecent effort for Grantaire not to leap at him right then and there and bite that lip himself.

Enjolras sort of wishes he would.                    

“Sorry, ah, about walking in on that.”

“I don’t care. Don’t worry about it. Montparnasse didn’t care either.”

“How… is he?”

“He’s annoyed that his boyfriend’s so free about bringing other men into bed.”

The corner of Enjolras’ mouth quirks up and he looks Grantaire over, noticing the perfect cut of his suit jacket and pants, and how much this works for him. “What did you say to that?”

Grantaire just laughs sheepishly. “I asked when he got a boyfriend. Apparently that was the wrong answer. Also, I think we broke up, but I don’t know if you can do that when you didn’t actually know you were involved with the other person?”

Enjolras can’t help but laugh at that in response, and Grantaire relaxes instantly. “Thank you, for looking after me. I needed that. You were really great and I appreciate that and I—honestly, I haven’t slept since,” he confesses, almost inaudibly, and before he can say anything else Grantaire pulls him forward in a rough but warm hug.

“Keep your head up, Apollo,” he instructs simply when he pulls away, and he turns around and heads back to the rest of the crowd, slinging his arm around Mary Kate’s shoulders. From over Combeferre’s shoulder Eponine shoots Enjolras a small smile, and he nods back at her.

\------

Cat falls asleep curled up on the shirt Enjolras slept in.

Grantaire can’t bring himself to disturb either the cat or the shirt and simply leaves them both.

**Author's Note:**

> wow I'm so sorry this one was sad :c
> 
> -more of you made gorgeous gorgeous GORGEOUS graphics like this one http://tazioparrish.tumblr.com/post/41924795145/anchored-by-duskolras-part-5-of-the-talk  
> -and this one http://wutheringss.tumblr.com/post/41886408255/eponine-combeferre-modern-au-inspired-by-talk  
> -I've been writing more drabbles on my Tumblr, which you can find here http://duskjolras.tumblr.com/tagged/trtmb-drabbles  
> -someone also asked me about Grantaire's alcoholism; the answer can be found here http://duskjolras.tumblr.com/post/42008862302/wow-for-starters-thank-you-to-you-and-everyone  
> -Mary Kate will be making several more appearances  
> -if you want to make graphics or art I'll love you 6eva and you should either message me on Tumblr or tag it 'talk revolution to me baby' or 'duskjolras' (my URL) in the first five tags  
> -I love you all  
> -you're the best  
> -thank you SO MUCH for putting up with me  
> -HUGE thanks to jehans, mercuryhatter, and Tumblr users courfeyhot and spinthetireslightthefires for all the help  
> -(the coffee table was all jehans)
> 
> <3


End file.
